Rights of Man
by AngelAxexinf
Summary: Commodities do not have rights. They live, fight, and die, in a cycle that is only broken when they have had enough.
1. Chapter 1

_I can't. I can't do it_.

Slowly, he rises from the bar stool, walks toward the men's fresher.

 _It's too much, it's...I can't do it anymore._

A slurred, happily drunk voice calls out. "Hey, Bow, where ya headed?"

"Fresher." He barely hears his own voice, barely feels the ground beneath his feet. Faces, voices, bodies pass by his eyes; he doesn't acknowledge them, they don't acknowledge him.

 _I-I can't. I can't do this anymore. It's too much, too much, too much…_

 _I can't live like this._

 _Not...like...this…_

The door opens without hesitance. The bar's music, already barely audible to him, fades to a bare memory, falls away with the rest of him as he nudges the handicap stall open. He locks it behind him.

He doesn't register his own breathing, stares into the white toilet's bowl as memories, sounds, sights, crash against one another in agonizing white noise and heat.

 _Make it stop. The screams. The pain. I-I can't-_

"Bow, you in here?" another voice, less slurred, yells.

No response. Footsteps approach. "Bow!"

 _I can't._

 _Make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop. Make. It._ _ **Stop.**_

His fingers brush the blaster in its holster, wrap around the grip. It slides out easily.

The footsteps come closer, grow louder. "Bow, where are you?"

The dark, empty nozzle of the blaster stares at him. He feels as if he falls into it, feeling nothing, hearing nothing-

A fist pounds on his door, frantic. "Bow! Bow, I know you're in there!" The voice is just as frantic as the fist, almost more than. _"Bow!"_

 _I'm sorry._

He slips his thumb over the trigger.

 _Goodbye._

He fires. No hesitation.

OoOoO

 **Days Earlier.**

"Bow, what's up?"

Bow barely notices the greeting. He stares, swaying side to side, back and forth-he's sure he's the only one who notices, though.

Brown eyes appear in his vision. "Bow, what's wrong?" The voice is concerned, worried, but calm. It masks its other emotions well.

"I'm tired."

The skin around the pair of eyes crinkles. "When was the last time you slept?"

Bow has to sit down, so he does. He chooses a bed and rests on it, rolls onto his back. "I just woke up."

"Ah." The medic, his body standing tall, reaches somewhere outside Bow's field of vision. He pulls up a chair, rests his own weight in it and stares intensely into Bow's eyes. "Is it...tired like it was last week?"

No. And Yes. Bow doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't for a while. The medic knows to be patient, relaxes into his seat to give Bow space.

"Sort of," he mutters. "It was more, a few days ago. Now, it's not as strong." Nothing was as strong, not his need to eat or drink, his need to sleep, shower, brush his teeth- _anything._

"You're feeling better?" The medic scoots forward a bit, the tiniest, barest glimmer of hope in his eyes. He thinks he's helped, that he's done a good job of playing psychiatrist despite not having the training.

Bow only just notices the datapad and stylus in the medic's hands.

He's embarrassed. "I hope you don't mind." He turns the screen so Bow can see it. Bow doesn't make an effort to focus his eyes. "I've been tracking your progress over the past few weeks, Bow."

A rather plain chart stares at him. Different colored lines glide across the grid, intersect to create different points. One flashes.

For once, Bow is interested in something. "What's that?"

"Oh," the medic says. He turns the pad around to get a closer look. "This is the last time you said you _really_ felt something."

"When I cried."

"Yes."

"Last week."

The medic sounds like a broken record. "Yes."

Silence falls. Bow doesn't like it, so he speaks again. "And the other lines?"

"These are the different levels of sleep you've gotten, what you said you felt and how strong it was, how your hygiene and personal care have been…" He explains the different color coded lines and where they match up, what it means. "The times when your eagerness to get out of bed, shower, and do other hygienic things increased with your happiness levels."

"By how much?" Maybe if he showers enough, he'll start feelings emotions in general.

"Not...not a lot." He looks guilty, rubs the side of the pad with defeat. "But it's a start."

"Can I have those pills again?"

"No, you can't-"

"Why not?" Bow demands. He remembers them clearly; small, white, hard, like any other pill. But they made him _feel_. They pushed his head up into a high, happy place, where he didn't care, but not in an I-want-to-die sort of way. He felt _happy_ with the pills. He felt other things on the pills (like extremely hungry) and he wants them again. No matter what anyone says.

"You got addicted to them."

"Then I won't take as many."

"That was what you said," the medic sighs, "then you got addicted. It almost destroyed you."

"I'll be careful." Bow can't live with this numbness, this intrinsic sense of loathing that completely blankets his life, his thoughts, _him._ He doesn't want to feel either numb or angry. It's no way for a person to live.

Except to the Republic, he's not a person. He's a unit, a commodity, property of one government or another. He overheard the medic speaking in hushed tones to another clone: "If we were actually considered people, we'd get the medicine we need." It was wry, but true.

The medic caves. "I'll...I'll see what I can do, Bow. But I'm not letting you self-medicate this time."

Oddly enough, Bow actually feels something. Not quite as strong as satisfaction, but something near it. It's not enough to actually display on his face, though. "Thank you." And he means it.

The medic's face softens. He must think he's accomplished something, helped Bow in some way even though all he's done is promised him drugs. "Is there anything else you need?" The voice is hopeful, the face not so much.

"No."

Disappointment. "Bow…"

Bow doesn't want to hear it, hear anything. He stands, vacates the bed and starts heading toward the door.

"Bow, I'm trying my best." The voice almost pleads now, chases after Bow's slowly retreating back. "I'm sorry."

Bow looks back at him, meets his eyes. He's sorry, too.

He doesn't respond, leaves.

OoOoO

The medic collapses further into his chair, releases a sigh against the ceiling.

"He's not getting better." A different voice, coming from deeper inside the medbay. A second medic steps out, examines the first long and hard. "What are you going to do now?"

The first wants to scream at nothing, at everything. He wants to give up on fighting, on being a medic, on helping the shinies cope and the vets deal with whatever the hell is happening to them.

He would, if his conscience would let him.

But he can't. He can't look into hollow eyes, shallow smiles. He can't hear the soulless laughter of veterans who would rather be dead than wherever they are and feel _okay_ with it, with himself.

He has problems too-they all do. You can't be a soldier and not end up with problems, with nightmares and vivid flashbacks and feelings of utter _emptiness_.

"I don't know."

"He's getting worse."

"I know."

"What if-" the second medic cuts himself off, seems to fear and regret the words even as they tumble out of his mouth. "What if...what if he ends it himself?"

Silence, heavy and thick, coats the medical bay, settles on every surface. It sinks into the first medic's lungs. "That's not going to happen." It might. It could. It probably will. "I...I'll figure something out before that happens."

The second purses his lips. "Do you want me to get the Blue Moss for you? I've gotta make a run on Coruscant anyway."

"I think we can get some from the 686th. Cord might have a little leftover." Cord always had extra-his connections were good, sympathetic.

It would take some time, though, maybe up to a week. The both hope Bow can hold on for that long.

OoOoO

 **Barracks.**

"Bow! Bow?" Another voice, similar to the medic's but more eager. _Happier_. Bow envies it. The voice comes with a face, and both come at him eagerly. "We're gonna head out." He says it as if he's bringing Bow along, willingly or not. "There's a fair going on by-"

"I don't want to go." He hates quiet but hates noise and crowds even more.

"You're going."

"No, I am not."

He frowns, huffs through his nose. "Well, you can't just lay here all day!"

Bow meets his eyes for barely a second. "Yes, I can." He's done it before.

Yotai knows this too. Maybe that's why he's even more determined, physically drags Bow out of his bed and stands him up. They're toe-to-toe. "We need to talk."

"We can talk here." Bow moves to sit down again, is brought back up by Yotai.

Yotai shakes his head, backs up a step. "You need to get away from...from all _this_." He motions to the base in general, but Bow notices the subtle look directed at him. Yotai wants Bow to get away from himself, from whatever chain cloud is dragging him through his daily routines. He thinks that sunlight, noise, and food will help.

Bow says nothing and, as usual, feels nothing.

Yotai's face softens, loses its intense look. "I'm worried, Bow."

"Everyone is." _You're no different._ Except he is, because they're squadmates and they're supposed to care about one another.

Yotai chews his inner lip. He does that a lot, especially when he's stressed. "I think I'm the only one who's trying to help you, though." He motions to Bow to sit, follows him. "See, Bow…"

Bow tenses, prepares for what he knows is about to happen. The Lecture. The "I know how you feel because I was sad once, too-but I really have no clue what's going on" talk that he'd already gotten from so many people on so many different occasions that he's lost count. He doesn't want to hear it, so he makes no attempt to. Bow stands and is immediately dragged back down.

"I know you don't believe me, but after Quiver died-" Yotai sighs, is silent for a moment. So it still hurts. Bow hadn't thought so before. He swallows, continues. "After Quiver died, I went through the same thing." He's much quieter now, much more somber. Yotai's eyes bore into Bow's.

The extended eye contact makes him feel uncomfortable, but he'd feel even worse for trying to look away. Yotai is opening up, trying to express how he's coping (or not) with Quiver's death, and that's not a side that Bow sees often.

Yotai's hands grasp each other, squeeze hard. He's started wringing his hands again, another sign that he's stressed. "I...I sometimes don't even…" He licks his lips, takes a breath, starts again, "I sometimes don't feel like-"

If he gets too frustrated he'll stop talking altogether. Bow grips his hands, rubs his thumb along Yotai's knuckles. "It's okay."

Everything in Yotai sags now. His shoulders droop, his head bends like a wilted flower. "It's so hard," he whispers to no one. "I-It's-"

Bow realizes then that Yotai knows exactly what he's going through. It's to a lesser degree, but Yotai is feeling more wrapped-up pain than Bow is. It breaks his heart.

"Hey, Yotai," Bow says in as soothing a voice he can manage. "I know how you feel, Yotai."

"I-I can't take the fighting."

"I know."

"All of the death, the...the pain and the loss and the-"

"I know, I know, Yotai." Bow kneels in front of his squadmate, tries to match the intense stare he'd received just two minutes before. "I don't think anyone can take much more of this."

Yotai chuckles in a wry, humorless sort of way. "I'm meant to be trying to make you feel better, not the other way around."

Bow manages something akin to a smile. "Role reversal is okay every once in awhile, Yotai." It's a strange position for him, attempting to help someone else cope. He doubts he's doing a very good job of it. Bow isn't much of a nurturer.

He's about to stand, figure out what else he can do to help when Yotai says his name. Had it been any other day, he would have multitasked: handled Yotai's question or phrase and wracked his brain for self-help tips.

"Bow." There's urgency in his voice, in his body language, in his face. Yotai's eyes display a bare moment of panic, search around the empty barracks as if there are extra ears on the bunks. "I can't be here any more."

A vortex opens inside Bow, violent cold wind and something heavy like boulders crashing around inside his lungs. The blood pounding in his ears is so loud he almost doesn't hear anything. His adrenaline spikes then crashes again, his fingers break out into small tremors-then all at once, it stops. The barracks are quiet. Bow can breathe. The only thing he hears or feels is the ringing in his ears.

Yotai speaks. "I...I need to leave, Bow."

Bow knows what he means. _Desertion._ _ **Desertion.**_

Yotai wants to desert the army.

Bow can't blame him.

"I've heard of this...this secret network for clones trying to leave. There are Jedi involved, Jedi who are against using us for the war."

Bow's mind has checked out, almost stopped listening entirely. He notes Yotai's interesting use of the word "use". He guesses there's really no other way to put it-they _are_ being used, since they were first put into tanks.

"General Dei is a part of it."

Bow isn't surprised.

"She said she can help get me out."

Bow is only staring, not hearing. His eyes slowly comb over Yotai's face; his brow is furrowed, his eyes on fire. Sweat has started to shine on his forehead and he notices that he's pale, too.

"You need to come with me," Yotai says in earnest. "You're not healthy-you're not _happy_ -here."

Finally, Bow speaks, "What will deserting get me?"

Instead of making Bow sit, Yotai joins him on the floor, lowers his voice to a conspiratory tone. "You'll get real _doctors_ , Bow. Not just clueless medics and drugs. You'll get the help you need, the life you _deserve_."

Internally, Bow is swaying. Does he stay and fight? But what does that get him (besides death)? He knows that civilians have doctors who are skilled in helping with whatever his problem is, that they can give him actual medications and healing. He's not sure if he wants to leave, but what's keeping him here? What's holding him back? Why does he feel tethered to the army?

Yotai assumes Bow's silence is indecision. "You can think about it." And he stands and steps around Bow, moving like he hadn't just admitted to committing treason. "But you and I-" He motions between them. "We're going to that fair."

OoOoO

* * *

Something I've always wanted to do was write an AU in which Ep III completely goes over differently. This starts in Episode II (towards the end) and continues well into Episode III.


	2. Chapter 2

**Food Fantasy Fair, Coruscant Square**

The daylight shines on the multitudes of vendors with their colorful cloth awnings and bright flags flapping in the wind. Families huddle around the various vendors and what few outdoor seats there are, share snacks and drinks and take pictures. The low roar of chatter and laughter is fast-paced, moves at odds with the leisurely bodies that mill about the square.

"Where do you want to go first?" Yotai asks Bow, pulls his friend along by the arm. Thus far, none have noticed the two helmetless clones walking about with the general populace. Those who _do_ see them only stare and point, but do nothing to engage them.

Bow doesn't look at anything in particular. He's in a somewhat blissful place; the sun feels nice on his face even though it's too bright, and he isn't drowning in the noise of the thousand or so people at the food fair. "I'm not hungry," he says.

Yotai completely ignores him. "How about there?" His finger points in the direction of a food station with steam coming out of its roof. The colorful sign lifts a little in the wind, reads "Hot mukal! Crispy origbe! Fresh-squeezed juice!"

Bow guesses he can go for some juice. He lets Yotai lead him into the short line, passively examines the customers in front of him. A Rodian child yanks on his mother's arm, begs to go to the next vendor over, but she only ignores him. The pair make it to the front of the line, but when the vendor—a heavily spotted tan Besalisk male—sees them, he stops cold.

"No clones allowed," he says in a heavily accented snarl. He waves one of his large hands as if they're bugs that can be shooed away. "Next customer."

Bow is actually startled. No clones? But they'd both made sure keep their helmets off and bring more than enough credits to the fair. In a matter of seconds, the surprise vanishes and is replaced by the same empty-to-emotions feeling he's been so used to. Some things just can't change.

Yotai doesn't seem to understand that. His face is a mix of surprise and confusion undercut with fear. He doesn't want to make a scene, but he also wants fresh squeezed juice. "Sir, we brought money—"

"No clones!"

"B-But sir—"

The Besalisk man begins to turn red in the face, the massive breath sac on his face quivering. "I _said—_ "

"Hey, just let them order already! I need to get a move on," the Twi'lek man behind them complains rather loudly.

The second Twi'lek male—who Bow can only guess is the first's boyfriend—speaks up as well, although much more politely. "They said they were paying. Just let 'em eat."

Bow and Yotai look back at the couple and then to the vendor, who is visibly weighing his options. Bow bites his lip, hopes that he'll be able to get his juice.

The vendor grunts. "What do you want?"

Yotai absolutely beams, proudly places his few credits on the counter. "Some juice, please."

The vendor grumbles again, turns his back and angrily chops some fruit, throwing them into a juicer.

Yotai leans toward Bow, semi-whispers, "I hear all this fresh juice is really popular with rich Coruscantis—and that it's got lots of nutrients, but lots of sugar, too."

"Huh."

"I think you're gonna like it."

"Yep."

"Order up," the vendor growls out, presents their large yellow cups with straws sticking out. Instead of handing them the cups, he slams them down on the counter, squeezes the cups so hard one of the cups springs a leak and spills juice everywhere. "Enjoy your drinks."

Yotai attempts to protest. "You can't—"

But Bow has already grabbed the less than half full cups, jabbed Yotai's side to get him moving. "Come on, it's fine." People are staring at the scene they're causing and Bow just wants to drink what he has.

Yotai is conflicted at first, looks from Bow to the vendor to Bow. Finally, he sighs, grabs his cup and leaves with Bow—but the whole time he's cursing under his breath. Bow leads him to an empty table, sits Yotai down and hands him his cup. "Don't worry about it," he says, knowing full well that it won't help the situation.

"We were _paying customers_ ," Yotai mutters, looks in disdain at his crushed cup of juice. It's dark red color stains like blood on the white metal table. "He shouldn't have a right to do that."

Yotai is the only clone Bow has seen get so upset over clone discrimination. Bow never thinks anything of it because life has to go on, but Yotai has gotten into multiple petty fights about bar entry and the like.

Yotai's still talking but Bow doesn't notice. He's focused on someone across the small court they're in: a black-haired Pantoran woman points a holocamera at the pair, very clearly snaps several pictures before examining them on her display screen. He doesn't move, only openly stares until she notices and scurries away.

"What're you staring at?" Yotai asks, turns around to examine the completely normal scene behind him.

"Nothing—some girl was taking pictures of us." He doesn't know how to feel about it, if he even should feel anything, so he just stays in the middle like he always does.

Yotai's head whips around even faster this time. What's left of his juice spills out of the crack in the cup but he doesn't notice. Eyes narrowed, he stares down every person that walks by until Bow kicks him under the table.

"Fucking civilians…" Yotai mutters, sips the last of his juice.

Bow notices the two civilians coming towards them before Yotai does. They're both Twi'lek men, one blue and the other orange. The orange one seems to favor the color dark green because even his boots and the bands on his lekku are of that shade. When he sees that he has their attention, his face lights up in a friendly smile.

The other Twi'lek beside him, the blue one, does nothing. His dark clothing and black-painted nails contrast strongly with his blue-green oceany skin tone. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades as well, making him only more mysterious and standoffish.

"Mind if we join you?" The orange one says, speaks for the both of them.

Bow and Yotai meet eyes, look at the pair, look at each other again. After a few moments of awkward silence, Yotai slides over, invites the couple to sit at their table.

The more open one, the orange man, speaks up first. "We got you guys some juice since you didn't seem to start out with much back there." They each pass one cup to Bow and Yotai. His choice in clothing color is strange to Bow because it doesn't exactly work with his shade of orange.

Yotai, having cursed out civilians a mere two seconds prior, immediately lights up. He grabs the cup, takes a sip and smiles even harder. "Yours is _smooth_ and a lot sweeter."

"I think he purposely screwed with your order," the second says. He takes the lid off his juice, stirs it around a bit with a painted finger. He mutters something under his breath but otherwise doesn't do anything to make conversation.

The orange one suddenly turns irate. He shakes his head, slams a fist on the table. Bow and Yotai both jump. "You guys don't deserve that—I mean you're out there fighting _kriff_ knows what _every day_ , and you can't even get some juice." His brown eyes narrow into slits, glare at nothing and everything in barely held back anger.

Yotai looks uncomfortable, but Bow doesn't blame him; neither of them have ever dealt with a civilian who was on _their_ side before. "Sir, i-it's really no big deal—"

"Yes, it _is_ a big deal," he interjects, adamant. He calms down a bit, sighs and stares at the mesh metal table. "That's not the kind of life you guys deserve."

The short silence is heavy and uncomfortable. When Yotai finally does speak, his voice is soft but matter-of-fact. "It's what we were born and bred to do, sir; now, you may not like it, but—"

"' _Bred'_?" The man's boyfriend says, looks from Yotai to Bow. "You were _bred_? As in how animals are bred?"

Bow openly bites his lips, chugs half his juice through his straw. "I-It's really no big deal, sir," he says. "It's just...the life we grew up with, just like how you two grew up as civilians and did...civilian things…" he stumbles.

The orange Twi'lek is still upset, unsettled over the fact that clones were and still are specifically bred to fight. The blue one merely gives Bow a doubtful look.

If he hadn't been feeling alienated before, he certainly is now; Bow has never considered how different his life might be from civilians. Every day of the ten-and-a-half years of his life is a horrid contrast to what civilians go through on a regular basis. They don't sleep on bunks or have to time their showers; they never learned to fire a blaster or patch up minor wounds and burns at the tender age of two.

Is it wrong that he envies civilian life, that Bow would very much rather lead of lifestyle of monotony and mundane events than constant laser fire and death? It's not his place to want for things he can't have, but his life is terrible enough that he'd rather be a member of the oppressing party than the oppressed.

"Well, the best of luck to you," the blue one says. "Whatever crazy life you guys have is just normal for you. I can't imagine knowing how to fire a blaster."

"I've never fried an egg," Yotai counters.

Both their faces twist with amusement. "Is that what you think we do all day? Just fry eggs?" The blue one asks. There are chuckles under his words, his voice laced with mirth.

Yotai blushes, embarrassed by his ignorance. Instead of immediately answering, he sips his juice, finishes another quarter of it in seconds. "I don't know…" he mumbles. "Don't you guys cook your own food?"

"I sure as hell don't!" The orange one exclaims, laughs to himself. "Bayut here does all the cooking—I just sit and eat it."

Bayut shakes his head, leans in toward Bow and Yotai as if expelling a secret. "He can't cook," he mock-whispers.

"I can!" his boyfriend protests. "I just—"

"You can't, sweetie."

And the subject moves from sentient rights to who can and can't cook what and when. Bow is interested in the conversation but doesn't contribute much. Yotai, on the other hand, speaks up whenever he can, offers little tidbits of commentary even though he has no clue what he's talking about.

Bow is content to merely sip his juice, enjoy the sunlight of the warm afternoon in the square. He'd been hoping to visit other stalls but is fine with sitting and chatting with Bayut and his boyfriend. He simply sits and listens, learns new things about civilians' daily lives—apparently, soaps come in different scents and colors. All he's ever had is white and neutral.

Movement catches the corner of his eye. Without making it obvious, Bow slowly looks in that direction, keeps the rest of his body turned toward the table.

There it is again—it's that damn photographer from earlier. Her actions are conspicuous, draw attention from other civilians who are surprised to see a tiny blue woman darting in and out from the cover of a tree.

Before anyone knows what's happening, Yotai is up and storming across the short path to the woman—then he's trying to rip the camera from her hands. She shrieks, and everyone's attention is on them.

Knowing that Yotai is irrational when upset, Bow tries to step in to prevent any further damage from being done. People gather in a circle around them now, stare at the unhelmeted clone likely to commit violence.

Yotai makes a grab for the holocamera, misses by a hair (she's small, but fast). Instead of giving up, he lunges again, manages to grab the strap and yanks hard. His height and strength over her jerk her forward, and she shrieks again, louder this time.

He clearly doesn't care. "What is your damn problem?!" he shouts, nearly wrangling the holocamera out of the poor woman's hands. "Do you always just take pictures of strangers like that?"

She's pale and terrified, afraid of making noises besides small squeaks and yelps. She still maintains her iron grip on the device, however.

Another powerful tug and the thing is out of both their grasps, sails through the air and lands with a hard _crack_ on the ground. It's broken.

Finally, she can speak, soft albeit indignant. "I-It's for a journal I'm writing—"

"I couldn't care less about your fucking journal," he snarls.

Bow doesn't know what to do besides physically pull Yotai away from the woman. "Listen, it's not a big deal—the thing is broken anyways and we don't want any more attention than we already have."

"Good luck with that…" the woman murmurs.

At Yotai's sudden silence, the crowd that surrounds them shouts, throws out abuses in defense of the woman. Bow is confused at first—taking pictures of people without their consent is illegal in many ways—until he realizes that their attention was on them the minute they stepped into the square. It's not just because they're clones, it's that they tried to mingle among civilians and they don't have their buckets on, their bare faces displayed to the world—along with their fear. They'd already caused a scene with the juice vendor, now they make a bigger one with the camera woman.

"You have no right to treat that poor woman like that," one older woman spits rather viciously.

Yotai has no qualms about confronting her, steps even closer instead of doing the smart thing and staying put. "She has no damn right taking pictures of us like we're zoo animals or something—I don't care what any of you have to say, I have a right to—"

The juice vendor had found a time to crawl out of his stand and try to confront the clones for a second time. "You're just a buncha damn clones—you ain't got rights," he says. Half the crowd roars in agreement, throws fists and more nasty things in the air. The other half is silent, rapt.

Bow and Yotai realize at the same time that they can't win, that no matter what, civilians will side with civilians. They're not people to them—they're otherwise faceless, armored bodies that occasionally speak in a strange accent. Bow nudges Yotai again to move, pulls him back enough so that he'll understand that they can't win. The hard edge to Yotai's jaw says everything; he'd rather try and defend himself than run.

" _We_ didn't consent to these pictures," Bayut speaks suddenly, runs his finger down a crack in the device's frame. His presence in the near center of the circle had gone unnoticed until then.

The woman attempts to maintain her cool, tries her best to look down her nose at Bayut despite being almost a full meter shorter. "I couldn't get a picture of them without getting you and your friend in—"

"Well, me and my _boyfriend_ don't want our faces on a stranger's holocamera, not without our consent." Bayut is terrifyingly calm, his face near expressionless save for the carefully guarded set to his brow. "And Bow and Yotai—" He points to the pair, moves just a half a step closer in solidarity. " _Clearly_ don't want their pictures taken without consent either."

The woman's tiny nose wrinkles, disgusted either at the fact that Bayut has a boyfriend or that "they" have names.

Bow doesn't know when their names slipped into the conversation, sure that he'd maintained neutrality in order not to give up anything about his personal life. Then again, Yotai had been doing all the talking.

"I can blur your faces," she says, presents the statement like a game winner. "The journal I'm writing—"

" _No_." There's a force no one knew the quiet man possessed. Some crowd members step back, leave before a larger fight can take place. "I want the pictures deleted."

"But—"

" _All_ of them."

"It's for a _clones' rights_ journal," she nearly yells.

Silence. The crowd is mixed, torn over whether to support the person attacking who they are defending or just turn on her.

Bolstered that she now has the attention, the woman keeps going, much braver now. "I believe that clones are people too, you know," she says, flippantly motions to Bow and Yotai as if they somehow aren't really there. "They have rights like the rest of us because they're sentient. They're _people_." Satisfied with her work, she returns to her normal demeanor, shrinks down a bit in height. "I took the pictures because I couldn't risk them saying no."

Bayut stares hard at the woman, bores into her eyes with his own. "If you really thought they were people, you would have asked for consent."

The crowd murmurs, pushes closer to the woman now that it sees she's clearly in the wrong.

"Just delete the pictures, lady," Bayut's boyfriend adds, steps into the middle of the cleared area. "It's really no big deal. I'm sure other clones would say yes if you'd just _ask_."

The woman doesn't budge. "I can blur your faces."

Bayut decides something just then, past trying to reason with her. "You know what? I'm suing."

Her face pales, drains of all color and emotion except for alarm. "Y-You don't have to do that, sir—"

"You've refused to comply with my wishes and my rights," he accuses, voice hard and sharp. "And even at my insistence that you respect both my wishes and Bow and Yotai's wishes for personal space and privacy, you ignored them in favor of a petty journal." The holocamera swings on its strap, dangles a meter above the ground. "Let's see how your..." he squints, reads the name on the holocamera, "...'Coruscanti Investigators' do with a lawsuit. I've never heard of them, so they must be small."

The woman is nearly in a panic, looks from his boyfriend to Bayut and back. The man shrugs. "He's a lawyer; when he sues, he _sues_."

Bayut lets the holocamera drop from his fingers. It hits the ground hard, splits along its display screen and up the sides. Hands in his pockets, he turns and begins strolling away. "Good luck."

The crowd moves with the woman, follows her as she attempts to pick up the broken pieces of the camera and rectify her situation. "Wait! Wait, I'll see what I can do—"

But Bayut is walking too fast, his boyfriend nearly skipping behind him. Neither seems bothered by the scene they've just caused.

Bow and Yotai have long since run away, ducked behind the courtyard wall. They sit on the ground, feet stretched before them. Yotai is still visibly angry, but Bow's surface emotions run wild: he's angry, sad, upset, confused, all too much for him to handle neatly the way he's used to. They run rampant at the front of his mind, wreak havoc in his thoughts and leave confusion in their wake.

Yotai mutters to himself in the language clones speak when they don't want to be understood. His lips move; barely a sound comes out. A shadow comes over them, distracts them from their own thoughts for a moment.

Bayut and his boyfriend stand over them. "Sorry to cause a scene," his boyfriend says, smiles brightly. "You two shouldn't have to go through that."

Bayut juts his chin in the opposite direction. "Come on, we can get out of here. We're not gonna be wanted back there anyway."

Bow looks uncertainly at Yotai, waits for him to take the lead. "Where are we gonna go? We're not wanted anywhere," he states, matter-of-fact.

"Wiren and I have a place we can go to—it's a small food stand, but the food is great and it's clone friendly." They pull Bow and Yotai to their feet, start leading them in the direction of the food stand.

Bow is fine with being lead, prefers hanging back to trying to maintain conversation. Yotai, always longing for a responsive conversation partner, walks in line with Bayut and Wiren, speaks at twice the volume that they do. He's animated, uses his hands like conversation enhancing tools and not just appendages and digits.

Bow doesn't know what they're talking about and frankly doesn't care. He's trying to sort through his feelings before they swallow him whole. This is what he hates about his condition: he either feels nothing or everything, swims in a numbing sea or burns in the torture of feeling too many things at once.

Immediately, his mind floats away to a quiet, still place, rests in the solidity of feeling absolutely nothing. He is simultaneously in peace and suffering. But he doesn't say anything because Yotai smiles just then, grins like a little boy about to get a bag full of candy. It's been a long time since he's done that.

* * *

 _Let's see if I can maintain the writing style of this fic. It's a bit difficult, but I think I'm getting it._


	3. Chapter 3

" _Get down! Watch your left!"_

" _There's too many! Where are the reinforcements?!"_

 _Blaster fire rains down on their heads like a storm. White bodies drop left and right, ripped apart by falling rocks, by debris, by volleys of grenades._

 _The heat burns him under his armor, drags sweat down his face and into his eyes. He can't see. He can't see._ _ **He can't see.**_

 _In front of him, he can make out the vague shape of another white set of armor, tries to wave to him. The other doesn't see or hear him, keeps running forward toward the line of droids._

" _Quiver! Quiver, stop!" he screams-but his voice doesn't leave his helmet. Quiver still sprints, doesn't stop, even when the black, oblong shape of an explosive soaring through the air._

" _Quiver-!"_

 _It lands. He dies._

Bow wakes up, lets the cool air of the barracks flow through his nostrils. Even though he's still, his blood races, rushes through his heart and his ears so that all he hears is a dull roar. He notices he's sweating. He tries to think about something else, about anything but the heat and the sweat and the death that surrounded him.

Nothing. He can't be surprised at that.

It's upsetting because just the day before, he'd had ice cream with Bayut and his boyfriend, the first time he'd ever had a civilian snack. Yotai had insisted on trying to pay with his meager handful of credits, and Wiren had laughed. "Nah, it's fine, keep it," was all Wiren said.

He _wants_ to feel as giddy as Yotai about ice cream, wants to be able to be excited about little things like sugary frozen dairy and cup noodles (which they got from a second stand about an hour later).

Bow's chest rises, falls with barely a change in shape. He lays like that for the next few minutes, lets the grey numbness settle in his organs like soot and replace the roaring and crashing.

"You up, Bow?" Yotai half-whispers one bunk away, leans out a little to be heard better. "I have plans for today."

 _Of course you do_. Bow isn't upset, just...tired. Tired of being forcibly dragged out of the base-out of his bunk-tired that Yotai is trying so hard to get a smile out of him when it's clearly not working.

And of course, Yotai doesn't see this, instead chooses to hop out of his bunk and tiptoe over to Bow's. With little effort, he nudges Bow out of his bed, plops him down in front of his trunk and motions for him to armor up.

"You already look like you're getting better," Yotai says, pats Bow on the back. "There's a park nearby here that I think you'll like-you like birds, right?"

"Sometimes."

"You'll like these ones." And he dresses in silence, fills his tiny cloth wallet with spare change and waits impatiently for Bow to finish as well. He finally stands, places his helmet on his head. Wordlessly, he follows Yotai through the halls.

"I can already tell you're starting to feel better, Bow," Yotai speaks now to nearly no one-Bow only barely pays attention, prefers to let the dull noises of helmet systems click in his ears. "I knew you just needed to get out for a bit instead of staying in here, holed up and everything."

"Hm."

Yotai stops, turns and looks Bow in the eye. "Hey," he says, voice much gentler now, "we're getting you through this, alright? That stuff Cord gave you helped, and going out with that guy and his boyfriend-"

"Bayut and Wiren."

"Yeah yeah, them." Yotai smiles, pats Bow's shoulder. "And when we went out with them, you actually _smiled_ , Bow."

Had he? Bow can't remember. He knows he'd been much more "positive" feeling. It's too strong a word, but it's close; he hasn't felt heavy or as numb as he usually has. He'd never thought Yotai would actually notice.

Yotai tugs on Bow's arm lightly, pulls him along down another hallway. He makes light talk now, speaks to no one in particular and perhaps maybe himself. "How does Twi'lek culture work for last names? Like, when someone gets married, do they hyphenate, choose one, or come up with a new name altogether?"

"...What?"

"Bayut and Wiren are gonna get married," Yotai declares.

"Says who?" Mildly interested now, Bow picks up his speed to keep in line with Yotai. "They're not getting married." He would remember if something like that were mentioned.

"I just know it."

Bow scoffs. "That's not _proof_ , Yoyo," he says, slips and uses his old pet name for Yotai. Bow can _feel_ the pause in Yotai's whole body-his steps, his breathing-and almost gives pause himself. Where had that come from?

There's a new softness in Yotai's voice when he speaks. "You saw how they acted with each other-Bayut's eyes would light up every time Wiren spoke, and Wiren couldn't stop touching Bayut." An almost wistful sigh. "They were all over each other but obviously trying to hold back, I guess cause they don't know us that well."

He thinks back to the night before, remembers that Wiren was getting more and more teasing and Bayut slowly grew to smiling. There had even been times where neither of the men remembered Bow and Yotai were there. Bow would like a partner like that-male female, whatever. It doesn't matter to him. He'd love to have someone he couldn't stop being near, someone who would make him feel needed and wanted.

He's a clone; he's not supposed to even _wish_ for things like that.

Bow's relationship with Quiver had been something like that. They were _tua'ir_ , brothers who were bonded through their souls. They were closer than brothers because they could feel each other's emotions, hear one another's _thoughts_ without even having to say something. All clones are brothers and therefore close, but not all are as close as _tua'irs_.

They had been close, and then Quiver died. Now, part of Bow's soul wanders with Quiver in the afterlife, waits for his brother to join him. And Quiver's soul is attached Bow's, haunting him til his death.

It's what happens when you mourn a brother's death too much. They don't leave you properly, hang onto your soul and slowly take the life out of you.

They're at the doors. The guard stationed there lets them pass, and Yotai again takes Bow's hand and leads him through the streets of Coruscant. "There's a nice bar we're gonna go to, and it's clone friendly, even."

Bow frankly doesn't care. He's not big on alcohol, doesn't really like the taste or smell or burning in his throat, but Yotai is too excited to remember.

He keeps saying that he'll get better. Bow knows he won't.

OoOoOoO

The bartender is Ithorian. She doesn't say anything, nods and continues wiping down the bar.

Bow sits down, Yotai gets their drinks. Soft yet heavy music plays over the speakers, fills Bow's fingertips with a jittery, tingly feeling. Yotai comes back and he sees that they're not starting with anything light; their midday drinking begins with shots.

"Just to loosen you up," Yotai says.

OoOoOoO

Life isn't worth living, Bow decides. Or maybe it is. Maybe he's had too many drinks.

No, it's not. Normal people don't feel dead brothers pulling them to the afterlife. Normal people _want_ to breathe, _want_ to eat, _want_ to take care of themselves. Normal people aren't clones whose souls are leaving them.

Yotai is rambling, always does when he gets this drunk. He snorts and laughs too hard at a joke he's told no one.

Yotai's life is worth something-would be worth more if he didn't have the burden of a living-dead brother on his shoulders.

Bow tunes out his rambling, fingers the blaster by his thigh. "I have to use the fresher."

He wouldn't be a walking set of armor anymore. His soul could go join Quiver's, and Yotai would be free.

Yotai lets him go.

The bartender simply watches.

OoOoOoO

Even through his drunk haze, Yotai knows something is wrong; his gut turns without warning, prompt his eyes to look up to the seat where Bow sits.

 _Had_ sat. It's empty.

His mind turns slowly at first, then more quickly as panic sets in and Yotai shoots to his feet. The chair clatters to the ground loudly but he doesn't care. "Bow!" he yells, half-slurs. "B-Bow, where…" He's unsteady, almost topples over. Patrons look over at him, watch the drunk clone stumble into the fresher.

It's brighter in there than it is in the main room. Yotai rubs his eyes, stumbles to the first stall and bangs the door open. Empty.

"Bow!" Where is he? _Where is he?_ The dread grows, the sickness grows, the panic grows.

Second, third, and fourth stalls are all empty. The door to the fresher opens; other bar patrons and the bartender hover near the door, ready for drama or an emergency.

"Bow! _Bow!_ " The fifth stall door won't open. White booted feet turn towards the door for a second, but go back to facing the toilet.

No matter how hard he slams his fists against the door, it won't open. Yotai kicks the door, is about to crawl under or over when he hears the familiar _click_ of a blaster's safety turning off.

" _Don't-_ "

The singular blue laser rips through the top of the stall, crashes into the ceiling and knocks a tile down. Bow's body collapses and thuds against the wall.

Yotai doesn't think, doesn't breathe. He stops feeling.

* * *

 _Next chapter should be a doozy._


End file.
